


Coming Home

by reliquexia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Prompt Fic, Queen Daenerys, Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 03:32:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7388809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliquexia/pseuds/reliquexia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon returns to Winterfell after meeting with the Queen for a marriage proposal. Honestly, I couldn't imagine such an outspoken Jon, but man this season. This season showed a different side of homeboi pouty lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> This was prompted by nabokovsshadows on tumblr  
> "Jon coming back to Sansa after giving up the throne for her and WF"

When the silver haired Khaleesi called upon his services, Jon had no choice but to leave his sister-cousin in the safety of Winterfell, as he trekked further South than any Stark man. The thought made him grim however, when he realized that no other Stark man would ever travel that south. Sansa was the last living heir of Lord Stark, his now uncle, as was revealed from the crypts by Littlefinger. It was the same time that the sly man slipped, and allowed his one weakness to give him a befitting death by poison. 

He was taunting them both, goading him on, and saying how he would never live up to his late father (father, always first and forevermore). Jon remembered Sansa’s face had gone blank and cold, trying to restrain herself just once more. Little did he know how cunning she had had to become in the years. 

After all of the teases, and jabs Petyr took, he finally relented in fit of laughter near sheer desperation, saying how Ned could never take away his Cat again, because he wasn’t even his bastard. And while Jon stood there in utter disbelief and shock, Sansa called up the man into her solar for a drink and discussion. While he discovered his ancestry in the tombs, Petyr drank long and hard from the cup of his would-be-promised-bride. 

Word got south to the Queen about how the rulers of the North managed to eliminate one of the most ruthless men of the game, with little to no effort. They became pivotal players in the eyes of Westeros, and an undeniable threat to the throne. 

Yet however strange his life had been, from realizing he was legitimate, to coming back from the death, nothing seems to ready people for the shock of dragons. The Queen understood what it meant to have another living Targaryen for the people, and a male heir at that. She knew that he had the stronger claim, and proposed that he take one of the dragons, and rule beside her, and that they would fill the Iron Throne with white haired children of his, much more trueborn than Snow. But when Jon closed his eyes, all of his children resembled his lost siblings of his dreams. A son with Robb’s auburn curls, a warrior daughter like his supposed mother and beloved sister Arya, and sometimes in his darkest dreams, ones he tried to disavow from his fleeting memory as he woke with a start, an heir with Sansa’s Tully eyes, and his Stark hair. 

She offered him the world. Every dream of his childhood. Legitimacy, royalty, power, and a history. His bones had become relaxed in the harsh Dornish sand. No more White Walkers to worry about. Another army could take care of that. He would live as a true lordling as his blood-father.

It was the hardest decision to rescind, but one he knew he had to risk. He was a man the gods gave a second life to, and he knew it meant never wasting a chance. He remembered Sansa telling him about Littlefinger, and all the ways she attempted escaping his grasp. 

“It is a pretty picture, my Queen, but I beg you leave the North out of this. Once the White Walkers are done, we will never interfere in your Southron affairs, this is my hearty promise,” he swore on his knees, The war wasn’t over, but all he wanted to do was go back home. He was a stubborn and honest man, for which the Queen’s hand, Lord Tyrion, last of the Lannisters attested to. 

“Well do you have another bride ready then? I refuse to let my royal bloodline end with a boy who refuses to take a good wife!” the woman shouted, hurt that her last of kin refused any association with her. 

“There have been rumors of another man, much long before your proposal. You could find your family there. The Starks are no threat to you.” he countered, angry, yet fearing he might have no choice but to relent.

“And what of my once-bride in Winterfell, Prince Targaryen? What happens when she remarries? What of her children?” Tyrion came at him. He was lost for words. He didn’t know what Sansa would do. He doubted she ever wanted to remarry. She had enough bad marriages to greedy men. 

“Entrust me with the affairs of Sansa Stark, and her future children. Whatever children either of us have will never have to go through the horrors we all did. They will not have short childhoods. They’ll remain naive and married off into other small Northern houses.”

The woman before him looked tired, and war worn. She was younger than him, about Sansa’s age, yet the two looked wiser than all the crones of Winterfell past with knowledge received through the most horrible lessons. Experience. She didn’t want to kill her last of kin. Daenerys had lost enough, and she wanted to trust family again. With a weary sigh, she ordered the man back home with a duty.

When the King of the North arrived back in Winterfell three moons too soon, the castle was in a hurry to prepare a feast for his arrival. They had assumed he would be lost to them, that he would be the vital last of kin to the Dragon Mother, that he would accept the honor of the Iron Throne. 

It was his cousin’s cry that disrupted the grounds, as they all made way for their King. “Jon!” she yelled again, as he dismounted his horse in the stables, and running for her arms, not unlike their reunion in the Wall. He quickly caught the red fury of hair, and warm skin. Sansa smelled like home. The dusty corridors of his childhood, the thyme and lemongrass in the kitchens, and the wildflowers surrounding their keep. Soft, yet sharp, a barrage of conflicting details, like her. Just like the soft kiss she landed on his lips. 

Was it a welcome back? Or was it something more? Jon shivered, even though he was almost covered by Sansa’s furs. He looked into her eyes for an answer, the blacks of it blown wide in surprise. 

“Marry me,” she demanded breathless in shock. “Marry me Jon, and you will never have to leave Winterfell. Oh Jon, I could give you heirs if that is your wish, and they’ll take direwolves instead of dragons,” she said, looking worriedly into his eyes. It pained him to see her fear rejection. To see her so vulnerable and soft after what the world did to her. He gave her one gift, he hoped the gods wouldn’t mind. A white lie.

“We can always ask for forgiveness, instead of permission?” he smiled back to her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find this, and other prompt fics on my blog Jon-x-sansa-gives-me-life on tumblr. And I'm still writing other prompts if anyone wants to send them :)
> 
> Edit: so the white lie is him letting Sansa think it's her own idea to get married, because he really wants her to have the choice and not be forced into another one. Even though it's sorta already agreed upon, and decided, he wants to give her the feeling of some power over her life.


End file.
